
Bi? MaM 



l!niMliilllti.l!/nl"illhtlh^lllJ/4!.nllAilH 



X 



/ 



Class 
Book 




AIA1II4 



Gop}TightN«_J.5_KiL 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 




"^XljoJ^llflA^tL/i^^ OoJAomU 



MEMORIES 



BY 

Mabel Matheson Cassard 



CRITERION PUBLISHING COMPANY 

CHICAGO 



PS 



3505 
13/4- 



COPYRIGHTED 1914 

BY 

ROBERT MATHESON AND GEORGE C. CASSARD 

CHICAGO 



# 



NOV 30 1914 
)CI,A388811 



CONTENTS 



Advent Hymn, An 

Ambition 

Artistic Temperament 

Autumn Fancy, An 

Ballade of Ye Damsels Three 

Beware 

Birthday Sentiments 

Brewer's Rival, The 

CJass Poem 

Come, Gentle Spring 

Converted Muse, The 

Dawn 

Dial of Love, The 

Dream Dancers 

Dreams 

Dreamship, The 

Eastern Proverb, An 

Ebb Tide, The . 

Even as You and I 

Flirt, A 

Gentle Jane 

Ghost of the Past, The 

Grandmother's Garden 

Grandmother's Sunday School 

Hame Langin' 

Ideal Husband, An 

Ingratitude 
-Inspiration 

Juvenile Poem 

Jeweler's Love, The 

Keepin' House Fer Ed 

Leap Year 

Little Winds, The 
■ Love Immortal 

Love in April 

Love's Charms 

Love's Quest 

Love Song 



56 
2 
44 
13 
58 
50 
35 
65 
68 

25 
42 

3 
22 
16 

14 
23 

41 
50 
45 
51 

49 
26 

64 
32 
12 
61 
22 
7 
30 
48 
60 
42 
33 
17 
28 

24 
21 

19 



CONTENTS 



Lullaby 

Ma Girl Marie 

Memory 

Morning 

Mother Earth 

My Lady Love's Eyes 

My Riches 

Nocturne 

November 

Nun, The 

Old Hall Clock, The 

Piper's Pay, The 

Portrait, A 

Prisoner of Hope 

Quatrains 

Quest, The 

Returned With Thanks 

Robber, The 

Rosemary and Rue 

Rose Petals 
- Serenade 

Shower in Springtime 

Soliloquy of a Rejected MS 

Solitude of the Soul 

Song of Hearts, A 

Song of Life 

Sonnet 

Spring Cometh 

Star Hunting 

Street of Bye and Bye, Th 

Tender Hearted Maid, A 

To 

To Ellen Terry 

Triolet 

Trust 

Unrequited 

Valentine, A 

Villanelle 

Villainous Villanelles 

Weavers, The 

When A Woman's Demure 
-You .... 

Young James 



FOREWORD. 

To those who have known the author of these poems 
in her earthly life, this book is primarily addressed. It 
is intended as a message from her of the happy times 
passed in the companionship of those she loved ; it will 
serve to recall those occasions when her own personality 
lent expression to these poems in her recitations. The 
poems in turn express her own personality, bearing 
through them an appreciation of the beautiful or a theme 
of love that is intense and calm and deep, or a reflection 
of her cheerful, happy disposition. 

Hers was the soul of an artist. She had that enthu- 
siastic appreciation of the beautiful and harmonious in 
whatever form of art or nature they appeared, but she 
found her own fullest expression of them in literature and 
dramatic art. 

Nor did this artistic nature disqualify her for the 
more practical things of life. On the contrary, her life 
was essentially practical and orderly, and her quick 
mastery of household duties after her marriage was a 
surprise even to those who knew her best. This orderly in- 
stinct was manifested in providing even for her possible 
death, as also in the smallest details of preparation for 
the care of that little life that went out with hers. 

She was a devoted wife and daughter, and surely a 
devoted mother as well, for she loved little children, and 
she awoke there in the possession of her own. To the 
memory of her happy, useful life this book is lovingly 
dedicated by 

HER HUSBAND AND FAMILY. 



I cannot say, and I will not say 
That she is dead — she is just away! 

With a cheery smile, and a wave of the hand, 
She has wandered into an unknown land, 

And left us dreaming how very fair 

It needs must be, since she lingers there. 

Think of her still as the same, I say; 
She is not dead — she is just away! 

—James Whitcomb Riley. 



MEMORY 

Ah, my beloved, memory is sweet! 

A passion flower half seen through mists of tears; 
A maid who lingers with reluctant feet 

Upon the threshold of the coming years; 
A melody by moonlight softly played 

That echoes faintly down the halls of time ; 
A gentle breeze that blows from some dream glade 

Where ever-blooming roses thickly climb ; 
A sweet perfume that stirs the heart's deep core. 

And makes the pulses leap and beat anew; 
Yea, all these things is Memory — and more, 

And yet, beloved. Memory is you! 



SONG OF LIFE 

Sing, my heart, sing! 

The year's at the Spring, 
Out in the n:eadows the daisies are blowing; 

Leap, my heart, leap. 

Wake from your sleep, 
For through jour portals life's Springtide is flowing! 

Rest, my heart, rest. 

Eyes to the west. 
There where the sun slowly sinks in the deep ; 

Pray, my heart, pray, 

'Tis the close of life's day. 
Now in the arms of the Lord mayst thou sleep. 



MEMORIES 



AMBITION 

The Rose of Desire blooms on the mountain top, 

A dweller in the valley, I, 
But climbing upwards from the depths, 

To reach the mountain heights I try. 

With weary feet and straining limbs, 

I struggle high and ever higher. 
Still mounting upwards to the heights 

Where blooms the Rose of my Desire. 

Though I may never pluck that rose 

To wear it on my breast, 
Still I have climbed, — still I have climbed — 

God knoweth what is best! 



TRUST 

Sunrise and sunset and dawn of a tomorrow: 

Who knows if the day will bring forth joy or sorrow? 

Will it be dreary or will it be gay ; 
Joy to give pleasure or sadness to cope? 

Let the new day bring what it may, 
Ours but to meet it with faith and with hope! 



MEMORIES 



DAWN 

Mine eyes behold the purple of the hills, 
The misty purple of the hills of dream ; 

The slender poplars on the sedgy shore 

Send their long shade across the shimmering stream. 

The hush of dawn is over all the land : 

No sight of god or mortal meets my view; 

Now doth the sun give forth his golden rays, 
And takes for pay the glittering diamond dew. 

On every hedge the little birds are singing 
To usher in the fresh and virgin morn. 

And in the dewy stillness of the dawning, 
The radiant day is born. 



THE NUN 

Within the narrow cloister walls, 

With vestments black, and humble mien, 
From early dawn till darkness falls 

I live in holy calm serene. 

I do not heed the noisy world 
That argues over jarring creeds, 

I walk the lily rows between 

With silent tread, and tell my beads. 

And at our Blessed Lady's shrine 

I kneel in adoration there. 
The image of our sacred Lord 

Is with me always, everywhere. 



MEMORIES 



MOTHER EARTH 

"The world is too much with us." 

— Wordsworth. 

Can't 3^ou hear the woodlands calling? 
Can't you hear them calling softly, 
Sighing whispers on the wind. 
Hear the myriad voices calling, 
See the myriad fingers beckon, 
While the myriad eyes are casting 
Longing looks behind. 

O, you dweller in the city, 

In the sordid, grimy city, 

With the roar and din and clamor 

Of the eager greed for gain, 

'Tis your Mother Earth that calls you, 

With the voice of God she calls you. 

Will 3'ou let her call in vain? 

Her fragrant breath will fan you, 
And her tender tears will lave you, 
And her gentle voice will lull 
Your careworn soul to rest; 
While her loving lips caress you 
And her gentle arms will press j'ou 
Close — ah, close against her loving breast. 



MEMORIES 



NOCTURNE 

The golden fireflies flash across the clover, 

The fragrant air is sweet with scent of flowers; 

Holding the stars on high like tipsy candles, 
Now come the drowsy hours. 

Across the gloom I hear the night-jay calling, 
I hear the night-jay calling to his mate, 

And ever through the heavy dank-mists falling. 
Loud hoots the owl sedate. 

The moon, a shepherdess of pallid splendor, 
Herdeth the little stars like silent sheep; 

Closing her weary eyes at last, contented, 
The day has gone to sleep. 



SPRING COMETH! 

O great white world! O loveliness unspeakable! 

The pale earth lieth in her winding sheet; 
The sombre pines a solemn dirge are singing 

In voices sad and sweet. 

But grieve not for her death, Oh, m,y beloved. 
Her resurrection cometh with the Spring, 

When every herb and tree and blossom 
Their flowery banners fling. 

Burgeoning buds where late the branches bore 
Burden of ice and coat of snowy flakes; 

Spring's magic wand will gild the whole earth o'er, 
And lo! the earth awakes! 



MEMORIES 



THE QUEST 

We talked together, my soul and I ; 

My soul said, "Let us seek the God." 
So forth we fared together 

Over the grass-grown sod. 

And the lark sang, and the thrushes 

And the wind sang in the rushes, 
And each blade of grass up-springing 

Seemed to join them in their singing. 

So we entered first the temple 

Built of stone, unyielding, cold; 
And the air within was dead. 

And the stones were dank with mould. 

A burst of joyful singing 

Rose on the lips of men, 
And the sound of their voices ringing 

Made the arches ring again. 

But the walls were covered with ancient dust 
That shook as men mumbled their ancient creed, 

And the hearts of men were filled with lust, 
Were filled with envy and hate and greed. 

To the sound of hymn and psalter 

The mighty organ pealed. 
But behind the lighted altar 

Stood Mammon half concealed. 



MEMORIES 



Without, the sunlight blessed us, 
His warmth and light caressed us. 

We felt the power of peace and love 
In the teeming life below, above. 

Behold, I looked at my soul, 
And lo, the God was there. 

"Yea," said my soul, "God is in me. 
And God is everywhere." 



INSPIRATION ^ 

List to the Song of the Morning Star 
At dawn when the morn is pale. 

Then dip thy pen in thine own heart's blood 
And write, — and thou canst not fail. 



MEMORIES 



SONNET 

Could I but sing the beauty of the world, 

The ecstasy and joy on sea and land, 
The splendor of the sunset flag unfurled. 

And make the heedless crowd to understand 
That all this loveliness reveals our God : 

(His the mysterious marvel of the seed 
That pushes hopeful spears above the sod), 

If but my song hath power to make men heed 
The wonder of the darkness and the light 

That change in loveliness from hour to hour. 
The mystery and peace that clothe the night, 

The thought of God that lies in every flower, 
Then would I sing the glory of His might. 

His glory and His majesty and power! 



NOVEMBER 

The waning Year, who, like a reckless fellow, 
Rich Nature's garnered treasures cast away 

When he was gay in scarlet bright, and yellow, 
Now sadly dons his sober suit of gray. 

Amid the silence of November dusk. 
He sits alone, reflecting on the past. 

Of his vast store remains a withered husk ; 
He sits alone and silent — Earth's outcast. 



MEMORIES 
MY RICHES 

No worldly wealth have I, no store 

Of gold or jewels fine; 
No treasured heap of silver dross 

Or hard cold gems are mine. 

But ah! At night when shine the stars, 

I look up at the skies; 
The bright moon sends her silver down 

To glad my eager eyes. 

Her shimmering rays come softly down 

To gild my humble floor; 
I am so rich I cannot count 

My heaped up treasures o'er. 

The jewel casket of the dawn 

Is op'd for my delight; 
Ruby and pearl and amethyst 

Each morning meet my sight. 

Yea, I am rich and so art thou, 

If thou hast eyes to see; 
The loveliness of earth and heaven 

Belongs to you and me. 



MEMORIES 



THE STREET OF BYE AND BYE 

By the Street of Bye and Bye 
We reach the House of Never, 

Deep in that arid wilderness, 
The land of Lost Endeavor, 

The way is fair, 
The languorous air 

Is sweet with bud and bloom. 
But oh, beware. 
That path so fair 

But leads thee to thy doom. 

In the Street of Bye and Bye, 

The lotus flowers sway, 
And shed their drowsy perfume 

Along the pleasant way. 

Oh, all is gay 
Along the way 

That leads to Lost Endeavor. 
But dire dismay 
And dark decay 

Surround the House of Never. 

There, arid waste, 
A land defaced, 

Is all that meets the eye 
Of those who taste 
The lotus placed 

In the Street of Bye and Bye. 



10 



MEMORIES 



THE PIPER'S PAY 

Dance if you will down the primrose way, 

Dance while the pipers play; 
Take your fill if you will of laughter and song, 

But remember the piper's pay. 

Oh, the purple blossoms are poison-sweet 
That bloom on the primrose way. 

And forbidden fruit is sweet to eat 
When the heart is young and gay. 

But the sweetness dies and the pleasure flies. 
And the heart grows weary and gray; 

And the end of it all is bitterest gall. 
And that is the piper's pay. 



THE WEAVERS 

Before you came, the Fates who wove my life 
Wove it of threads of dark and sombre hue, 
Dull brown and ashen gray and inky black; 
But now across the woof the golden thread of you 
Shines like a flame! 



11 



MEMORIES 



HAME LANGIN' 

My hame is by the Frith o' Forth, 
An' it's there that I would be, 

Where the waters travel from the north 
To join the eager sea. 

My bairns in this new land 

Are kind as bairns can be, 
And the new land is a great land, 

But it's not for such as me. 

My auld heart is greetin' sair, 

An' the tear stands in my ee 
When Fm thinkin' on the heather 

O' my ain countrie. 



A SONG OF HEARTS 

Man's heart is like an inn, 
Where love stays but a day; 

But a woman's heart is like a home 
Where love abides for aye. 

Where love abides for aye. 
And never cares to roam ; 

Oh, man's heart is like an inn. 
But woman's heart's a home! 



12 



MEMORIES 



AN AUTUMN FANCY 

The painted face of Autumn 
Smiles on her lord, the Sun ; 

She knows that his love is dying, 
That her day is nearly done. 

She has decked herself out in splendor 
Like a faded old coquette, 

And she adds one charm to another, 
For she thinks she may win him yet. 

But the heart of her lord is cold. 

And he turns away his eyes. 
Slow fall her tears, and the gold 
. Of her hair and beauty dies. 

Her beauty of gold and of red, 
Her beauty the sun has kissed, 

Is paling as one that is dead, 

And she veils her face in mist. 



13 



MEMORIES 



DREAMS 

The Dream Angel comes in a mist of light, 

A mist of the pale moonbeams; 
With a mystic light her eyes are bright, 

And around her float the dreams. 

Red poppies cling to her gray green robe, 
In her long, long hair they float. 

For her head they form a scarlet crown, 
They circle her snowy throat. 

And around her float the wraith-like dreams,— 

The dreamland music hear ; 
They chant the drowsy lullabies 

So soft and sweet and clear. 

Sometimes it sounds like a silvery laugh, 

Sometimes like a sob of pain, 
And now like the whisper of rustling leaves, 

Or the summer's gentle rain. 

And again it sounds like the soughing winds 
As on dark, cold nights they moan. 

And now like the drowsy hum of bees, 
Or an insect's lazy drone. 

The dreams are ghosts of happy hours 

That long ago have fled, 
And some are memories of love 

And kisses from the dead. 



U 



MEMORIES 



They come and nestle in our hearts, 

And bid dull care begone, 
They warm and feed our hungry souls 

Till the coming of the dawn. 

When thy cool kiss falls on my brow, 
How bright the future seems; 

Thou bringest joy and peace and love, 
O Angel of the Dreams. 



PRISONER OF HOPE 

There lived a lady of a poet's dream 
Who wove a magic web beside a stream — 
"The Lady of Shalott" the name she bore — 
A curse was laid on her, and evermore 

She still must weave her fancies all adream, 
Forbidden she to look upon the stream 
That ripples silver sparkling by her door. 
Flashing with life and ceasing nevermore. 

Ah, am I then a Lady of Shalott? 
Here must I weave my hope that changes not, 
While ever past me in a ceaseless stream 
Flows life's broad river with its flashing gleam. 



16 



MEMORIES 
DREAM DANCERS 

{To be recited to the inusic of Money Musk.) 

O, dancers of the Money Musk! 
I see them through the gathering dusk, 
The dusk of long since vanished years, 
And in my eyes a mist of tears 
Unbidden starts when I recall 
That they have all departed — all. 
In dreams I call them from the dusk 
To dance again to Money Musk. 

Where are the laughing, bright-eyed girls, 

And Phoebe with the chestnut curls, 

Who stole my heart with one sweet glance 

Amid the music of the dance; 

And in the corner Fiddler Joe, 

Who marked the time with active bow? 

"Now forward six! and swing to place!" 
They danced with such a rustic grace. 
Those country girls of long ago. 
"Oh, swing your partner! Pass below!" 
Alas, no more they "Right and left!" 
I sit alone, of friends bereft. 

And she, my partner in the dance, 
A figure from some quaint romance ; 
If one could backward turn the dial 
And see again her slow, sweet smile ! 
Goodnight, sweetheart, 'tis growing dusk, 
We dance no more to Money Musk! 



16 



MEMORIES 



LOVE IMMORTAL 

In a fair garden at the world's end 

We met, you, Love, and I ; 
The land lay in an ecstasy of bloom 

Under the turquoise sky. 

Singing water and laughing land, 

And the blue, blue sky above. 
And never a soul in all the world, 

Save you and me and love. 

For that was long e'er the earth began, 
Or the sun and the stars awoke; 

Before Time was, or the universe 
Had cast off its inky cloak. 

For I loved 5'ou then as I love you now, 

With a love that can never die; 
With a love that shall last while Time shall last, 

As aeon and aeon rolls by. 

It matters not where'er you are, 

Wherever you may be, 
The voice of my soul will speak to yours, 

And yours will answer me! 



17 



MEMORIES 



TO ELLEN TERRY 

Spirit of sunshine — that is what we call her, 
Dear Ellen Terry from a distant shore; 

Mellowed by years, yet with a voice as tender, 
A smile as radiant as she had of yore. 

Mischievous, subtle, elusive as the south wind, 

Heedless of pelf or power; 
Art thou that Beatrice indeed, 

Born in a merry hour? 

O lovely face, by sunshine kissed, 
O laughing eyes and dimples merry, 

Small wonder that we can't resist 
To love you, Ellen Terry, 



A PORTRAIT 

Eyes inscrutable. 

Mouth that is mutable. 
Mystery, mastery, witchery, too ; 
Large-hearted laughter, something of tears, 
Youthful, nay, ageless, defying the years, 
Knowing the secret the ancient Sphinx knew. 

All human. 

All woman, 

That's you! 



It 



MEMORIES 



LOVE SONG 

Starfire, — your eyes, 

Sunfire, — your hair; 
Two glowing altar fires of love 

The angels have lit there. 

My heart upon these burning pyres 

A willing sacrifice I lay, 
And night and day before your shrine 

On bended knee I pray. 



TO 

"A star danced and under it I was born.' 
— Much Ado About Nothing. 



Under what star wert thou born, 
Queen of our tears and laughter. 

Daughter of dew-spangled morn, 
Under what star wert thou born ? 

Voicing our joys and our sorrows. 
Painting our grief and our pleasure; 

Playing a dirge to fill us with grief, 
Or a jig to dance us a measure. 

Under the dancing star 

That hangs in the sky at gray morn, 
Of Shakespeare's Beatrice, the birth-star, 

Under what star wert thou born? 



tt 



MEMORIES 



UNREQUITED 

Think of me but as the white moon-moth, 

That flits across the dark, 
Or the butterflj' that lives but an hour 

And then lies cold and stark. 
Let me but flutter through your dreams 
As the white moth flits through the moon's bright beams, 
Or the butterfly kisses the leaves of a flower 
And dies — and dies in an hour. 

Show me one glimpse of your golden heart, 
Give me one passionate kiss e'er we part; 
Passion's a mixture of rapture and pain, 
Love is enough though 'tis given in vain. 
Think of me but as the white moon-moth 

That flits across the dark, 
Or the butterfly that lives but an hour 

And then lies cold and stark! 



ROSEMARY AND RUE 

Beside a sprig of rosemary 

I laid a sprig of rue; 
For me the flower of bitterness. 

The rosemary for you. 

When our love lay a-dying, 
Ah, then, indeed I knew; 

For 3^ou the flower of memory, 
For me the bitter rue. 



MEMORIES 



LOVE'S QUEST 

Love stands without thy heart and knocks, 
The wee god Love, and yet so great, 

The whole world kneeleth at his feet; 
He pleads that he may enter in. 

Canst thou resist that voice so sweet? 

Love stands without thy heart and knocks. 

Come bid him enter ere it be too late. 

Is it because thy heart is cold? 
Thou hast no room for love at all 

Thy heart so filled with lust for gold 
The lust of gold that leads to hate? 

Love stands without thy heart and knocks. 

Thou wilt not let him in? Ah, then beware, 

His arrow's winged dart, 
That with revengeful hand he aims 

To pierce thy quivering heart, 
No balm, save time alone, can heal 

The poison of its smart. 



SOLITUDE OF THE SOUL 

Far in a forest lies a pool: 

Deep, dark and still, a thing apart. 

The sun has never kissed its waters cool, 

No man has ever fathomed it ; that is my heart. 



21 



MEMORIES 



THE DIAL OF LOVE 

"The world may find the spring by following her," 

My love so lily-sweet, 
The flowers bend with gentle leaves astir 

To kiss her feet. 

The world is all a-bloom with May 

When she doth smile; 
I follow her as shade doth sun 

Upon a dial. 

Without the shade the dial were incomplete, 

The sun art thou; 
I am the shade that loves thee, sweet, 

Oh, love me now. 



INGRATITUDE 

Love came a-begging at my door, 
His great eyes full of pleading. 
(I knew him by the bow he wore), 
I held him close against my heart, 
Wove garlands for his pretty head, 
Garlands of roses, white and red. 
But, ah, the rogue! he sent a dart 
And left my heart a-bleeding! 



22 



MEMORIES 



SERENADE 

Goodnight, sweetheart! Amid the dark 
Your candle sends a tiny spark; 
Your dear face at the casement there 
Shines in the midnight of your hair; 
The moon-rose blossoms full and white, 
Goodnight, sweetheart, goodnight, goodnight! 

The night-moth flits across the gloom, 

The sky with stars is all a-bloom. 

How fair the night with stars a-shine. 

Fair as thy face, Beloved, mine. 

God keep you safe till morning light. 

Goodnight, sweetheart, goodnight, goodnight! 



THE DREAM SHIP 

Ah ! Late last night. Beloved, 
When all the world was still. 

The mellow moonlight drifted in 
And fell across my sill. 

It drifted o'er my sill 

As the waves drift on the shore 
And I seemed to stand by a silver sea 

That the moonlight sparkled o'er. 

And over that silver sea 

A gentle night wind blew. 
That brought me the radiant ship of dreams, 

And in that dream ship — you. 



as 



MEMORIES 



V YOU 

The birds that sing above the eaves 

Forever sing of you. 
The winds that sigh among the leaves 

Sigh ever you-oo, you-oo, you-oo. 

The owl with eye-balls burning bright 

Hoots ever you, you, you; 
And every sound that wakes the night 

Doth sing to me of you. 

How can I e'er forget you, love. 
Each sound my thoughts renew ; 

So blame me not if I can think 
Of nothing else but you! 



LOVE'S CHARMS 

Within her sober, hazel eyes 
An imp of dreamy laughter lies, 

A merry imp of laughter. 
Whoe'er has looked upon her face 
Is captivated by her grace, 

And loves her ever after. 

Her trailing garments softly float, 
It was of her the poet wrote: 

"She walks in beauty's splendor." 
The silken coiling of her hair 
Has drawn my heart within its snare 

In bondage true and tender. 



84 



MEMORIES 



COME, GENTLE SPRING 

Come, gentle Spring, with budding flowers, 
And singing birds among the trees; 

Lay off thy winter raiment now, 
And waft thy zephyr breeze. 

Why linger yet so bare and chill, 
With cheeks so wan and white? 

Come forth, dear child, and enter in 
With happy smile so bright. 

Put on thy gayest garment, then. 
And deck thyself with flowers. 

And lead thy happy, joyous dance 
With sunshine and with showers. 

Come, dress thyself with velvet green. 
And crown thy head with gold. 

All nature then shall live again. 
The Master's works behold. 



26 



MEMORIES 



THE GHOST OF THE PAST 

I am old and my limbs are knotted like the roots of the 

banyan tree, 
I am old, and my eyes are weary from long gazing at 

the sea; 
For from the sea he came — my heart's love — 
In a ship with the sails outspread like the wings of a dove. 
He was beautiful, my beloved, as he stood like a god at 

the bow, 
He was beautiful — beautiful — beautiful! I can see him 

even now. 
His hair a halo of gold as he stood in the sun. 
And his eyes dark as wells when the day is done. 

Once I was young, Senor, but that was long ago; 
But I can never forget my love. Forget him? No! 
Red-ripe for kissing, my mouth was a crimson flower. 
And my tresses fell to my feet in a midnight shower. 
I was proud, Senor, proud of my beauty and fame, 
For the whole of this great island knew the sound of 

my name. 
It was I, at the Feast of the Virgin, who sat on a golden 

throne. 
In a robe of silk and gems and a mantle of cloth of gold. 
(Ah, me, how the years have flown! I am old — alas, 

I am old!) 
And I bore in my hand a sceptre, a golden rod ; 
And my heart was frozen with pride, for I thought 

myself better than God! 

Men practiced every art as they sought to win my heart, 
But I — I loved no one — no one till he came. 
Then, Senor, then my heart was sudden aflame, 



MEMORIES 



My love burst into bloom like a perfect flower, 

I — who had been heartless till that hour! 

I — whom many men had sought; 

I — for whom Pietro fought 

And killed his brother. 

(Ah, can this old hag be I and not another?) 

Three golden moons we loved, only three moons alas! 
In times of perfect happiness how swift the seasons pass. 
When you love with burning passion, all is sunshine and 

soft laughter. 
Song of birds and scent of flowers — and hell forever 

after ! 
Thus burned our love, like answering flame to flame, 
Till the sea, that smiled so gladsome when he came, 
Turned cruel and bore him from me with a sneer. 
He went away, Senor, and left no sign. 
He went away and left me desolate here! 
He that was part of me — that was all mine! 

And I sat and looked and listened till my heart grew sick 
with longing; 

As I waited by the seashore, how the memories came 
thronging. 

They all came back to mock me — came to me with mock- 
ing laughter; 

When one has loved, the memories stay with him ever 
after ! 

I am old, and my eyes are weary from long gazing at 

the sea; 
I am old — oh, God! I have lost him! He will never 

return to me! 



27 



MEMORIES 



LOVE IN APRIL 

'Twas many and many a year ago, 

And I've grown old and gray, 
But the memory lingers with me. 
(Ah, si jeunesse savait!) 

The April sky was magic, 

The April winds were charmed, 

We looked into each other's eyes, 
Her gaze was unalarmed. 

'Twas innocent and child-like 
And yet 'twas loving, too, 

I was wildfire and twenty 
And April skies were blue. 

Rosemary — that's for remembrance! 

How can I ever forget 
The words she whispered to me — 

I seem to hear them yet. 

When I was young and twenty 
And she was sweet sixteen; 

(At her belt she wore a nosegay — 
A little sprig of green.) 

The winds were soft with April, 
The sky was blue above, 

And I, wildfire and twenty, 
And I fell deep in love. 



MEMORIES 

ROSE PETALS 

ATTAR OF ROSES 

Just as the rose, with perfume-laden petal 
Exhales the fragrance of a thousand flowers, 
So doth my heart, where tender memories settle, 
Give out the fragrance of remembered hours. 

THE ROSE AND THE THORN 

Thou'rt fair, O Rose, thy beauty is supreme. 
When with the morning dew thy petals gleam ; 
But ah, alas, thy loveliness is born, 
O, dainty hypocrite, upon a thorn, 

ASHES OF ROSES 

Ah, Love is sweet as the scent of the roses — 

Thou knowest not how fragrant a memory can be ; — 

Dead love, like dead roses, its perfume discloses. 
And clings like the scent of the roses to me. 

THE SECRET 

Red rose, red rose, tell me how my lady fares. 

What secret lieth in your heart, gem-bright with dew? 

Rose, I prithee tell me, ere I burst with longing. 
Is her kiss a-burning in the heart of j^ou? 



JUVENILE POEMS 

O little girl I used to be! 

I speak to you across the years, 
The years so full of joy and grief, — 

A rainbow web of smiles and tears. 



MEMORIES 



LULLABY 

The sun lamp shines in day time 
To make things warm and bright; 

When night time comes and brings the dark 
The moon lamp gives us light. 

The fairies light the star lamps 

That seem to come and go 
As though they winked their twinkling eyes 

At Baby down below. 

And now the dear sleep-angel 

Puts all the lamps away, 
And Baby sleeps on Mother's breast 

And dreams about his play. 



GRANDMA'S SUNDAY SCHOOL 

Down on the farm we stay at home 
And have our Sunday school, 

And Grandma teaches us and talks 
About the Golden Rule. 

And after that she tells us all 

A lovely Bible tale 
Of Moses in the bulrushes, 

Or Jonah and the whale. 

But when my Grandma comes to pass 

Her c'lection plate about, 
Instead of putting pennies in. 

We take a candy out! 

32 



MEMORIES 



THE LITTLE WINDS 

The little winds around my door 

Are singing all day long, 
And softly near my window panes 

They wail a mournful song. 

And yet I never see them; 

I wonder where they go, 
When I look out to find them 

As I hear them singing low. 

Sometimes they howl like angry wolves, 

And yet I have no fear; 
I know they cannot reach me 

All safe and snug in here. 

And then I say to Mother, 
"The winds howl loud today, 

But they're not really angry, — 
Just the little winds at play." 

I wish that I could see them 
And ask why they're so sad ; 

I'd let them come and play with me 
And try to make them glad. 



Z'i 



MEMORIES 



STAR HUNTING 

At night when I look at the sky 
And see the cloud-ships sailing by, 
I think how jolly it would be 
To sail up in that great blue sea. 

I'd steer my boat up to the stars, 
Perhaps to Jupiter or Mars, 
And cruise around up there all night 
To find out how they make their light. 

They say there's animals there, too ; 

I wonder really if it's true; 

A great cross bear that comes out nights, 

A lion, too, that growls and bites. 

You needn't think they'd scare me though ; 
I'll take my air gun if I go, 
And if they dare to growl at me 
I'll shoot them dead as dead can be! 



84 



MEMORIES 



BIRTHDAY SENTIMENTS 

Here's a host of birthday wishes 
That are loyal, true and tender 

Here's hoping you'll accept them 
With the friendship of the sender. 



I send you the best of good wishes 

On this, your natal day, 
And I'll wish real hard while I'm wishing 

That you weren't so far away. 



You are the nicest person 
Of the nice feminine gender; 

That your birthday may be happy 
Is the true wish of the sender. 



ts 



MEMORIES 



QUATRAINS 



Here's a little secret I've found out to be true: 
When you're feeling lonesome and kind o' bored and blue, 
Try to think of others 'stead of only you, 
'Cause everybody else is lonesome too. 



Her mouth where all love's graces seem to meet, 
And shaped by love in all its mystic curves, 
In subtle signs tell him who but observes, 

There never was a mouth one-fifth as sweet. 



I too have dreamed the long, long dreams, 

I too have built in Spain; 
I have beheld youth's golden gleams, 

That cannot come again. 



36 



MEMORIES 



QUATRAINS 

My heart is full of loving thoughts, 

Like birds within a nest; 
I send them to remind you, 

That old friends are the best. 



Pleasure is fleeting. 
So, in sooth, is pain; 

Seize every perfect hour, 
It will not come again. 



Once you illumined all my days. 

With your smile; 
You led my feet in rose-strewn ways, 

A little while. 



87 



HUMOROUS 



MEMORIES 
A TENDER-HEARTED MAID 

Once on a time there lived a child of gentle mien and 
manner mild; she was so tender and so kind, she wept to 
see a window blind, and feared 'twould give the window 
pain to leave it standing in the rain. 

Her maiden auntie she would beg not to stone raisins, 
beat an egg, or from potatoes take the eyes. Oh, how this 
maid would agonize ! And when she saw her whipping 
cream, with horror she would sob and scream. 

The very thought of killing time appeared to her a 
dreadful crime, and though to music she inclined, to beat 
a measure seemed unkind. To cut a page or turn it down 
would cause a deprecating frown. To see the cowslip by 
the river with apprehension made her shiver. And when 
she saw that all the trees were chilly in the autumn breeze, 
she knitted hose for them to wear because she said their 
limbs were bare! 

Her heart so oft with anguish wrung caused this poor 
maid to die quite young. 



40 



MEMORIES 



TRIOLET 

Antoinette is fair 

But Antoinette is false, 
With face so debonair 

Her beauty's my despair. 

All hearts are in her snare 
As she floats in the waltz. 

Antoinette is fair 

But Antoinette is false. 



AN EASTERN PROVERB 

A Sage once said: "Most men wed fools!" 

We can't deny it's true. 
(Of course this is one of those rules 

That won't apply to you.) 

Ah, Master Sage, don't crow too soon, 

We have a shot for you ; 
'Tis true that most men marry fools, 

But then, all women do! 



41 



MEMORIES 



THE CONVERTED MUSE 

'Tis gone! I cannot capture 
The first fine careless rapture. 
The golden thoughts and poet thrills 
O'er sunset skies and moonlit rills, 
Were mine in long ago 
When, singing to and fro. 
Not asking why or whether, 
Went youth and I together. 

Mad ecstasy is gone from hence 
And in her place reigns common sense. 
No longer fed on flower petals. 
Now rules the muse of pans and kettles. 



LEAP YEAR 

Back again to Leap Year 

Old Time doth slowly creep; 

Now be sure when you propose, girls, 
To look before you leap ! 



42 



MEMORIES 



VILLANELLE 

Love's a fickle boy 

For he wearies soon ;- 
Love that seemed a joj' 

Soon begins to cloy. 

Cast away the toy 
A-sighing for the moon. 

Love's a fickle boy 
For he wearies soon. 



VILLAINOUS VILLANELLES 

Oh, see how the people all stare, 
That fellow has just lost his wig! 

It serves him quite right, I declare, 

For wearing of other folk's hair; 
He's dancing a regular jig; 

Oh, see how the people all stare. 
That fellow has just lost his wig. 

Jones is a terrible bore. 

He talks till he drives one distracted. 
I've heard all his stories before. 
And I hope I shan't hear any more 

Of his discourse so long and protracted. 
Oh, Jones is a terrible bore. 

He drives all his hearers distracted. 



43 



MEMORIES 



ARTISTIC TEMPERAMENT 

Young William Shakespeare Addison wrote poetry en- 
thralling, 
Sublime in subtle rhapsody, heroic and appalling, 
Meanwhile his wife took washing in and scrubbed to pay 

the rent, 
(Which didn't worry William S. to any great extent.) 
He never thought of working. 
But still he wasn't shirking, 
Because, j^ou see, this genius had artistic temperament. 

Mae Gwendolyn O'Rafferty was learning rhythmic 
dancing ; 

To be the wonder of the age she thought would be en- 
trancing. 

In Grecian glides and pirouettes her waking hours were 
spent, 

And yet she "hadn't strength enough" to earn an honest 
cent. 

She never thought of working. 
But still she wasn't shirking, 

For this aesthetic damsel had artistic temperament. 

Plantagenet McDabble was an actor of renown. 

His amateur productions made him hero of the town. 

The ladies praised and pampered him, and everywhere 

he went, 
The people whispered sagely of his histrionic bent: 
"He never thinks of working. 
But then he isn't shirking; 
Our noted fellow-townsman has artistic temperament." 



44 



MEMORIES 



EVEN AS YOU AND I 

A poet there was and he sent his verse, 

(Even as you and I.) 
With the comforting thought that it might be worse 
(Though he didn't know that it couldn't be worse!) 
And thought that the thing would fill his purse 

(Even as you and I.) 

Oh the tears we taste and the stamps we waste, 
And the work of our brain and hand, 

On editors molding the public taste, 

As they grimly wield their scissors and paste, 

Rejecting verses with nervous haste 
That they do not understand. 

The poet sent out his precious verse, 

(Even as you and I.) 
To an editor who with smothered curse 
Cried in accents grim and terse, 
"Throw that thing in the waste basquette!" 
And for all we know it may He there yet, 

As the years go gliding by. 

Oh the scowls we wear and the hair we tear 

As we typewrite the thing by hand 
For the editor there in his guarded lair. 
(All for the man who does not care!) 
And now we know that he never will care 

And will not understand ! 



45 



MEMORIES 



THE OLD HALL CLOCK 

The old clock in the hall 

Was sedate and slim and tall, 
In his face and his appearance rather grim; 

For, though always on the go. 

He was so precise and slow 
That the others turned their noses up at him. 

They were all quite young and gay 

In a free and easy way. 
And the French clock was in fact a trifle fast ; 

And the things she used to say 

As she passed the time of day 
Were designed to make the hall clock quite aghast. 

And they whispered to themselves 
As they stood upon their shelves 

As each one held both his hands before his face, 
And the little French clock said, 
"He has wheels inside his head !" 

And they never tired of talking of his case. 

So in time the old clock grew 

Very sad and nervous, too. 
Being tantalized and worried by their spite; 

He was getting so run down 

That he wore a constant frown, — 
That's the reason that his face was always white. 



46 



MEMORIES 



But the very worst of all 

To the old clock in the hall 
Was the time the little French clock ran away; 

She became so very fast 

That she ran away at last 
And they talk of her escapement to this day. 

And this gave such a shock 

To the old hall clock 

That he stopped. — Tick tock ! 



RETURNED WITH THANKS 

"Returned with Thanks" is of so frightful mien 
That to be hated is but to be seen ; 
When seen too oft, familiar with her guise, 
We first endure, then "tumble," then revise. 



SOLILOQUY OF A REJECTED MS. 

I seem to scintillate and flow, 

(I really think I'm clever) ; 
Yet verses come and verses go 

But I come back forever I 



4f 



MEMORIES 



THE JEWELER'S LOVE 

The jeweler's love has golden hair; 
No other maid is half so fair. 

With ruby lips and coral cheek, 
Her equal would be hard to seek. 

"Thou lovelier than chrysoprase," 
He sings to her in glowing phrase, 

"Opal-pitating is my heart; 

I have been hit by Cupid's dart. 

Of earthly treasures you're the sum ; 
You're worth your weight in platinum. 

Your silv'ry voice and teeth like pearls 
Make you a paragon of girls. 

To me you are a precious gem, 
Fit for a duchess' diadem. 

Your eye the diamond does outshine ; 
I beg, sweet maid, that you'll be mine. 

But if you prove a fickle jade, 
I'll seek me out a sterling maid." 



48 



MEMORIES 



GENTLE JANE 

Just last evening, Gentle Jane 
Went sailing in an aeroplane, 
Said she couldn't take a dare, 
Now she feels "up in the air." 

As she was rowing on a river 
Gentle Jane began to shiver. 
She found the water very wet; 
Gentle Jane felt "quite upset." 

One more deed I shall record : 
Gentle Jane fell overboard ; 
When she struck the ground at last, 
Gentle Jane felt "quite downcast." 



A VALENTINE 

A valentine I must indite — 

That is the task I try tonight — 

And if I do it not aright 

And bring my lady much delight 

The lightnings from her eyes so bright 

Will take away my appetite 

And leave me but a luckless wight. 



49 



MEMORIES 



THE EBB TIDE 

They're returning from the seaside, 
From the mountain, glen and lea-side, 

From the forest, lake and river — everywhere ; 
They're returning from vacations. 
Filling railroad trains and stations. 

And their joyous exclamations fill the air. 

Dollie's nose is all a-blister 

Where the summer sun has kissed her; 

Helen's freckles have reduced her to despair; 
Margaret's face and arms are tawny, 
Edna's neck is red and scrawny, 

And the color scheme mounts upward to her hair. 

They're returning from the beaches. 
And they're clamoring for bleaches. 

As they throng about the beauty parlor's door; 
And each damsel loud beseeches 
A complexion like a peach's — 

A complexion like the one she had before. 



BEWARE! 

The dangers that infest the Spring are easy to perceive; 
The buds are shooting everywhere and all the trees will 

leave ! 
But I don't blame the trees at all if they're a bit afraid. 
Each flower has a pistil out and every grass a blade; 
There's peril in the very air, there's danger all about. 
But, oh ! Beware the fearsome time the brown bulrushes 

out! 

§0 



MEMORIES 



WHEN A WOMAN'S DEMURE 

When a woman's demure, 

Beware. 
Your heart's not secure, 
Your downfall is sure; 
When a woman's demure, 

Take care. 

Of her downcast eye, 
Beware. 

With her smile and her sigh 
So sly, so shy ; 
Of her downcast eye 
Take care. 

There are others as fair. 

Beware. 
Not a whit does she care, 
She's the one that gets there. 
She'll get you in her snare. 

Take care. 



THE FLIRT 

There's a maid who would die for the love of a man — 
What a fool ! When of men there are plenty. 

As for me, I'm quite different, — believe it who can, 
But I'd rather live — to fool twenty! 



fil 



MEMORIES 



MA GIRL MARIE 

Ma heart, she's singin' a leetle song 
To-night on de Belle Riviere, 

About dat girl wat she's called Marie, 
Dat girl wid de coal-black hair. 

De firs' tarn w'en I see dat girl. 

Ma heart begin to keek. 
An' I fall on lofe wid her right away 

An' I want to marry her queek. 

Ah'm jus' plain farmer, me. 

An' don' put on no style; 
I don' know how I shall meet Marie 

An' I'm thinkin' all de w'ile. 

Wan day I meet her on de street; 

I say: "Bonjour, Marie!" 
You bet she's lookin' mighty sweet. 

But she won't look at me. 

I tip ma hat to her, lak dis; 

She give me 'aughty stare. 
I t'row to her a leetle kees; 

She hoi' her nose in air. 

Now w'at to do I am not know; 

I see dat's not de way 
For mak a hit wid real nice girl, 

An' to myself I say: 



62 



MEMORIES 



"Baptiste, ma foi, you'r one beeg fool, 

W'y don' you male a call 
On her fader w'at is post-master? — 

You don' know not'ing 'tall. 

"An' tell him you have fall on lofe 

Wid Marie's pretty face." 
But still dat's somet'ing hard to do, — 

He's great man in de place. 

But me, Ah'm jus' plain habitant 
Wid farm on Belle Riviere; 

Got plenty peeg an' cow^ an' sheep, 
An' plenty nice fresh air. 

An' so I Stan' an' think a w'ile, — 

Wen all at once I saw, 
Rushin' lak tonnere down de street, 

Mad dog wid foaming jaw! 

Ma heart, she geev beeg jomp wid fear 

For right away I see 
Dat dog is runnin' right at her — 

Straight for ma girl Marie ! 

Den I am rush an' grab his jaw 
An' hoi' wid all ma might. 

Of course I hoi' he's teeth apart 
An' so he cannot bite. 

An' soon dere comes a crowd around ; 

Dey say dat I am brave — 
An' den dey tak' dat dog away 

An' so Marie is save.' 



5S 



MEMORIES 



Dat's not so moche a t'ing to do, — 

Marie, she t'ink it's fine. 
So w'ile she t'ink I am so brave, 

I ask her to be mine! 

Marie she blush jus' lak a rose, 

An' smile a leetle smile, 
Den she geev a fonny look 

An' say to wait a w'ile. 

I say I cannot wait a w'ile 

Because I lofe her so, 
An' so I ask her pretty plain 

Eef it ees "yes" or "no." 

Ah, den Marie she blush again. 
She smile an' she say, "Yes!" 

Oh my! I ac' jus' lak wil' man — 
(I ac' lak fool, I guess.) 

An' on our wedding day nex' week, 
De peop' de bride will hail. 

An' I will wear Prince Albert pants 
An' drink real ginger ale! 

Ma heart, she sings a leetle song 
To-night on de Belle Riviere, 

About dat girl w'hat she's call Marie, 
Ma girl wid de coal-black hair. 



54 



EARLIER POEMS 



MEMORIES 



AN ADVENT HYMN 

O silver star of even, 

Sparkling on high, 
Thou look'st on the earth 

With tWne all-seeing eye. 
Thou saw'st the shepherds lowly, 

Guarding by night, 
Sheep and young lambkins 

Fleecy and white. 
Sawest thou their looks of awe, 

Wonder and fear. 
As God's glorious angel 

To them did appear. 
Flashing his silver wings. 

Shining all bright. 
Softly the angel spake, 

"Be not afrlght. 
For unto you is born," 

The angel smiled, 
"In the city of David, 

A saviour child. 
Low in a manger laid. 

Dumb beasts around." 
Then when the angel ceased 

Was heard the sound 
Of a bright host divine. 

Singing on high, 
While their effulgence 

Brightened the sky. 



56 



MEMORIES 



"Glory to God," they sang. 

Again and again, 
Sang they the song of "peace, 

Good-will to men." 

Tell me, O star on high, 

Brilliant white star, 
Heard'st thou the camel bells 

Tinkling afar? 
Did your bright rays divine 

The magi guide 
Till they came to the place 

Where the child did abide? 
Bright gold and myrrh 

And frankincense sweet 
They brought from afar 

To lay at his feet. 

Lead us, O guiding star, 

As thou didst them 
To worship the Babe 

Of Bethlehem. 
Not frankincense or myrrh. 

Or gold bring we. 
Only our loving hearts 

We offer to Thee. 



57 



MEMORIES 



BALLADE OF YE DAMSELS THREE 

Oh hearken, hearken to my lay, 

Oh, list, ye people all. 

The while I'll tell what fearful thing 

Three damsels did befall. 

'Twas on the ides of June, indeed, 

A sultry summer's day. 

When from the house three maidens fair 

Came running out to play. 

Six pigtails floated on the wind, 

And at each pigtail end 

A ribbon bright, of rosy hue. 

Came streaming down behind. 

Now two had locks of flaxen hue, 

And one had auburn hair, 

But each had eyes of rare pale blue. 

Freckled was each face fair. 

Now one — 'twas she of the auburn hair — 

(She had a spirit bold), 

She took some stones from a neighboring brook 

As David did of old. 

And to the others thus spake she 

In accents full of guile, 

And those two pairs of pale blue eyes 

Were fixed on her the while. 

This wicked little girl, quoth she: 

"Now, Jane and little Sue, 

I have a plan I think you'll like, 

To make old Brindle moo. 

These pebbles round and smooth, I'll take 

And sling them at the cow; 

Now get you some within your hands 

And I will show you how." 



6« 



MEMORIES 

They gat them stones within their hands 

And slang them at the beast, 

When lo, the cow, she turned her round 

And faced her toward the east. 

They smote her on her brindle side. 

And on her brindle head. 

Shed tears, I prithee, reader, now, 

If you have tears to shed. 

For that awful beast she charged about 

With e'er increasing ire. 

And turned upon those damsels three 

Her dreadful eyes of fire. 

Oh, naughty, naughty damsels three. 

With fright their pale eyes gleam. 

And every freckle on each face 

Stands out alone, supreme. 

They hie them to the stable loft. 

And strive to climb the stair. 

The ribands bright of rosy hue 

On both flax and auburn hair; 

The cow she spied those ribands red, 

Mephistophelean shade! 

And at those trembling damsels three 

A desperate charge she made. 

And with her horns so very sharp 

She gored them through and through, 

And left them weltering in their gore 

With upturned eves of blue. 



59 



MEMORIES 



Now all of }^e who read this tale, 

In mind this moral bear, 

If 3'ou have locks of flaxen hue, 

Or even auburn hair. 

Don't monkey with the buzz saw. 

And of pistols have a care. 

But above all other earthly things, 

Of brindle cows beware. 



KEEPIN' HOUSE PER ED 

We thought she'd do suthin' sometime, 

Becuz she alius said 
She figgered on bein' famous — 

But she's keepin' house fer Ed. 

She was pretty an' sweet as a picter, 
With a way o' holdin' her head 

Like she was the queen o' the country — 
But she's keepin' house fer Ed. 

She's had to pitch in an' hustle 
Sence the day that she was wed, 

But she's happy as a cricket 
Jes' a-keepin' house fer Ed. 

Just to be loyal an' tender, 

(When all is done an' said). 
Is woman's highest art in life; 

"Jes' keepin' house fer Ed." 



60 



MEMORIES 



AN IDEAL HUSBAND 

An ideal husband is a man 

Who always does the best he can 

To lead an ideal family life 

And keep the household free from strife. 

He must be strong and full of health, 

And if he has not too much wealth, 

He must hnve brains to make a living 

And still have something left for giving; 

The man I'd like would not be "tight" 

Nor yet a spendthrift, — but just right. 

He must love beauty everywhere 

And be serene and void of care; 

Be sunny and sweet-tempered, too. 

Must see a joke; be seldom "blue." 

His manners charming, full of tact, 

Prove he's a gentleman, in fact. 

He would not swear by stars above me 

That he would never cease to love me, 

But by his actions I would feel 

That he was staunch and true as steel. 

As for the color of his hair; 

For such a thing I would not care. 

If he were true and kind and good, 

I'd love him dearly — yes I would ! 

An ideal husband is a man 

Who alwaj's does the best he can. 



61 



MEMORIES 



YOUNG JAMES 

Young James he was a likely lad 

As every one might see ; 
His father and his mother thought 

No one was like Jimee. 

Now James he was the Chieftain 

Of a band of Indians brave, 
Who vowed that they would follow him 

Xo glory or the grave. 

'Twas on the fourth day of July, 

Loved Independence Day, 
When all the boj^s straightway began 

At Indians to play. 

Young James he was a gallant chief, 

His steed, his father's cane. 
And six brave Indian followers, Jim 

Did lead a-down the lane. 

They met a band of wicked boys, 
(Most people called them tough) 

Who cast rocks at that Indian band, 
And called young James a "Muff." 

Now James' Mamma had said to him 

As she tied his necktie neat, 
"Now do avoid those naughty boys 

That live on Slocum Street." 



62 



MEMORIES 



Young James forgot Mamma's advice, 

And straightway he began 
To smite one of those wicked boys, 

I think they called him Dan. 

And all his Indian followers brave 
Came then with ready aid. 
And at those naughty wicked boys 
A brave attack they made. 

Then James he got his cannon, small. 

And aimed it at the foe; 
Oh, the little legs of those naughty boys. 

You should have seen them go. 

And then the naughty wicked boys 

Threw firecrackers red. 
And one hit Jimmy in the eye. 

Another in the head. 

And now the battle over, 

They count the gory dead ; 
Young James he had a broken arm, 

Also a broken head. 

Today his face it wears a look 

As if he'd lost all hope; 
The blackness on his azure eye 

Will not come off with soap. 



63 



MEMORIES 



They bore him to his humble home 
And laid him on his bed; 

His mother's heart is sore with grief, 
And many tears she shed. 

His mouth he cannot ope to speak, 
Much less to give a growl ; 

It pains him n\uch to even frown, 
It hurts hinr\ more to scowl. 



GRANDMOTHER'S GARDEN 

Hyacinth, daisy and lavender, 

Hollyhock and rose. 
Even little violet. 

The sweetest flower that blows. 

All these in Grandmother's garden, 

In beauteous disarray, 
Are standing by each other, 

And are lovely all the day. 

Sir Robin is a visitor. 

And every morn he comes. 

And whispers to the violet. 

While near the wild bee hums. 



64 



MEMORIES 



THE BREWER'S RIVAL 

My Lady Love is fair to see, 
(Velvet and silk and lace galore) 
My Lady Love she flouteth me 
And treateth the Brewer graciously, 
Alas and alack for me. 

I sent her gifts of violets. 
So like her eyes — but I feel yet 
The shock I felt when I got the bill, 
But my Lady Love she flouts me still 
And treateth the Brewer graciously. 

The Brewer, he is rich and fat, 
(Barley, malt and the smell of hops) 
He looks to me like a brewery vat, 
(Oh, that I had the price of a hat) 
And he rubs his hands in glee. 

My Lady Love is fair but false, 

(A mist of lace and a flash of jewels) 

I thought when she gave me that last waltz. 

Ah me, but why will men be fools. 

Alas and alack for me. 

I hear the collector at the door, 
(Three golden balls — no overcoat) 
I think I've heard that step before, 
And I wish that my progenitor 
Had left me aught but ray pedigree. 



66 



MEMORIES 



MY LADY LOVE'S EYES 

From her balcony low my lady looks down 

On a narrow street in a little town, 

And loiterers sauntering to and fro, 

Some with measured tread and slow. 

Look up for one glance from those beautiful eyes ; 

For there's nothing on earth, and there's naught in the 

skies 
Can rival or equal my Lady Love's eyes. 

My Lady Love's face is a rose dipped in milk, 

And her skin is like finest and softest of silk; 

Her hair is spun gold, and her ears like pink shells 

Tossed up by the waves and the ocean swells; 

But there's nothing on earth, and there's naught in the 

skies 
Can rival or equal my Lady Love's eyes. 



THE ROBBER 

High in his eyrie the robber crow 
Takes his toll of the fields below. 
He sees the ripening corn and wheat 
And knows that it soon will be good to eat. 



e« 



MEMORIES 



A SHOWER IN SPRINGTIME 

In the spring the baby leaves were laughing, 

Fluttering and dancing in the sun, 
And they sang the tender little songs of springtime 

From dawn till day was done. 

But one day a wild wind came a-roaring, 
And buffeted the leaves with all his might; 

Then they shook and sobbed and cried and whimpered 
And trembled in their fright. 

With all their little strength the leaflets pleaded, 

They begged him to refrain ; 
Ah! then in showers fell their tears. 

Behold! An April rain! 



MORNING 

Our Lord makes all the earth anew 
Each morn when I awake 

And scatters sunshine everywhere 
On river, field and lake. 

And when I wake I say a prayer. 

As little children should, 
And ask the dear Lord's blessing 

And that He will make me good. 



67 



MEMORIES 

CLASS POEM 

FOR EIGHTH GRADE RAVENSWOOD SCHOOL 

June 29, 1894 

silver-winged Muse, descend, 
'Tis of my classmates, all, I sing, 
The artists and the singers embryo. 
The budding essayists, all, all. 
And bid them each a fond farewell. 
Free are we now from those dread things 
Which followed us so pitilessly through the year, 
That juggernaut arithmetic, which with its iron goad 
Did prod us most unmercifully without ceasing; 
History with its barbed dates, which pricked us daily. 
Grammar, which added many a convolution to our brain, 
Have faded out of the present and tarry in the past. 

When memory calls me back to scenes of bygone days, 

1 will think of that arithmetic which caused 
So many a fearless heart to quail, 

When we dug for that square root, so deeply, darkly hidden 
In the earth, where grows the tree of knowledge. 
And can I e'er forget the days, the weeks. 
The months we hammered at that discount. 
I'll not forget the history where we learned 
"Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown." 
And v/here we also learned how sweet and beautiful 
It is to perish for one's country. 
I'll not forget the drawing. 
Over which so many happy hours were spent, 
Nor the language, where with sharpened v/its we vivi- 
sected sentences. 
And followed sweet Evangeline 
Through all her devious wanderings in search of Gabriel. 

68 



MEMORIES 



Some know the joy the artist feels, 
When changing to his lightest touch 
The picture grows; 

Others, like Shakespeare, Fancy's child. 
Echo their native woodnotes wild. 

Some will launch their little craft 

Upon the stormy sea of life, 

Some will rest within the harbor, safe at home, 

Till their vessels, strengthened, perfected. 

Better can resist the shock of troubled waves. 

But now to say farewell ; how can I bid adieu 

To all the joys and pleasures we have shared in common? 

We must part in pleasure mingled with pain, 

Loss, but yet gain. 

Expressed in that sweet word, "Auf wiedersehen." 



69 



